


Fever

by historyofakind



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:31:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historyofakind/pseuds/historyofakind
Summary: Bill comes down with the horrible flu, and Stans the one watching him.





	Fever

Stanley Uris took a hot bowl of soup out of the microwave, a small paper towel under it to protect his sensitive fingers to the hot touch. He steadily moved it to the counter where he set it down so that he could close the microwave. He was about to go ahead and grab the soup again when he heard distant coughs upstairs. His head quickly looked up at the stairs. He made his lips into a straight line, taking the soup and walking up the stairs carefully.  
Stanley entered Bill Denbrough’s room. The young man was stuck in his bed surrounded by rolled up balls of tissue. Stan put the bowl of soup on Bill’s nightstand. “It’s still a bit hot, so be careful.” He said. “Th-Thanks St-Stan.” Bill stammered with a little smile of appreciation.  
Stan stood there for a second. He nodded then turned on his heels and walked towards the door, almost like a little soldier. He held his head up as he walked, arms at his sides with perfect posture. “Uh...St-Stan?” Bill asked.  
Stan was almost out of Bill’s room when he turned around. “C-Can you h-h-help me?” Bill asked, his blue eyes seeming helpless. Stan narrowed his brows for just a moment. “Yeah...sure.” He said.  
He had offered to watch over Bill while his parents were gone, though he didn’t know why he’d have to watch over some fifteen year old boy. Bill was strong and brave, it was hard to break him. It’s shocking how weak Bill became when he was sick. At least he wasn’t throwing up again. That was a nightmare.  
Bill pointed to a small chair of his at his desk in the corner. Stan looked at it and went towards it, picked it up and set it down in front of Bill’s bed. Bill laid there in his bed, his nose bright red, his cheeks pale. “D-Do you th-th-think you could m-m-maybe feed it to m-me?” He asked, fiddling with his fingers.  
Stan stared at him for a moment. “Can’t you lay up?” He asked, no emotion in his voice present. Bill sniffled. “I could t-t-try, but I d-d-don’t th-th-think I can.” He said, a slight frown laying on his lips. Stan was silent for a moment.  
He let out a small sigh as he grabbed the bowl. He scooted the chair closer towards the bed. “If Richie finds out about this, he won’t leave us alone until we die.” He said. Bill let out a weak giggle. “I ha-have ways to sh-shut him up.” He said, raising a weak fist.  
“Okay tough guy.” Stan said, a small smile forming. He dipped the spoon into the bowl, letting the soup go into it. He then leaned in close to Bill and put the spoon to his lips where he slurped at it. Stan moved the spoon away from his lips and back into the bowl. Bill had closed his eyes shut, hard. “I-It’s still r-r-really ho-ho-hot.” He stuttered.  
“Oh, sorry.” Stan said. He looked down at the soup and tried blowing on it a little. He dipped the spoon into the soup once more, filling it. He then blew on it gently before putting it to Bill’s lips, to which he drank. “Better?” He asked.  
Bill looked at Stan and beamed. He nodded, flashing Stan a handsome smile. Stanley looked down, feeling his cheeks becoming warm. Bill noticed a slight pink color coming to Stan’s cheeks. He raised his left hand up to Stan’s cheek, feeling warmth. “You’re w-w-warm.” He said softly.  
Stan didn’t dare look at him. He felt Bill’s thumb rub his cheek slowly, gently. Stanley brought his hand to Bill’s, overlapping it. He was sure now that he probably was looking like a tomato. “I hope you’re n-n-not getting s-s-sick.” Bill said.   
Stan moved Bill’s hand away from his cheek, down to his lap where he just held onto it. “N-No…” he breathed shakily, his heart was racing. “I’m not getting sick.” He said, reassuring Bill. Stan moved his hand reluctantly away from Bill’s so that he could go back to feeding him.  
The rest of the day went like this, Stan being Bill’s caretaker. He didn’t find it that bad, but yet enjoyed it, even though at the end of the day he found himself coughing hoarsely, a cold catching on.


End file.
